Breaking the Barriers
by Kathryne Buzolic
Summary: Nothing is as it seems. For Beacon Hills High's newest student, that couldn't be any more true. What sort of school admits a (mostly) untreated schizophrenic? That's exactly what Bridget Swanson wants to know. While attending, she'll discover secrets about her new home, some of her peers, and even herself. How much could this little town have to hide? Eventual Stiles/OC
1. Desire vs Need

**Well, hi there! This is something I've been working on for a while, and I've finally decided to post the first chapter! Before we get started, I would just like to thank kaljara for helping me work out some of my worries for this story, and you should all take a look at her Stiles/OC fic, Ignite and Extinguish. (Because if you haven't read it, exactly what are you waiting for? It's one of the best Stiles/OC fics out there!)**

**Disclaimer: Does it surprise you that I don't own Teen Wolf? I wish I did because then I could demand more shirtless scenes, but alas, I don't.  
**

* * *

_The question that drives me hazy;_

_Am I, or the others crazy?_

—_Albert Einstein_

* * *

"You don't believe you're ready for this, do you?" the older woman asked, raising an eyebrow, which made the short brunette opposite her scoff, resting her chin on her knees. She was sitting with her legs pulled up to her chest—despite the fact that the chair she was in barely allowed her to do so.

The teen was watching the woman before her with suspicious gray eyes, lips pressed together in bleak amusement. "I'm a paranoid schizophrenic who refuses medication. I never know what's real and what's the product of my 'condition'. What do you think?" she countered, mimicking the guidance counselor's expression.

"I think you can do anything you set your mind to, Miss Swanson. Despite your…condition, you have great determination." The girl's fingers ticked in annoyance, but she remained silent, letting her finish. "Let me rephrase the question: Do you want to go to school again?"

The girl pursed her lips, considering it. "What I want…It's not really relevant. What I need would be a more suitable topic. We both know this isn't exactly an ordinary visit, so let's cut the crap and get to the point." If her firm tone surprised the guidance counselor, she didn't show it, merely indicating with her hands that she should continue. "Typically, the onset of symptoms for schizophrenia appear in early adulthood. I was diagnosed when I was ten, making me a little…abnormal. However, my condition doesn't necessarily stop me from having determination. But since you asked…I want to teach behavioral neuroscience. I find it fascinating, and I enjoy spreading knowledge. What I need, in order to do so, is familiarize myself with a typically 'normal' learning environment again. My state of readiness doesn't matter even a quarter as much as my need and ability."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Ready, desire, need and ability. People say I need medication, that I can take it, even if I don't want to. I just need to be ready to accept help. Readiness and desire have never agreed with me." Shifting, the girl raised her eyebrows again. "Let me give you examples of how these four words defer. A timid virgin may not be ready to have sex, but she certainly can. Or, a boy may want to play video games all day, but he needs to do chores. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

Ms. Morrell nodded slowly. "You're saying that whether or not you're ready, whether or not you want to do this, you need to, and you can. So, you'll do it because you have the ability to. In most cases, that reasoning isn't very wise…Miss Swanson, you seem to be forgetting the main goal. You want to be a professor."

Unwrapping an arm from around her legs, 'Miss Swanson' brushed away the dark hair falling into her eyes. "And here I thought we were getting somewhere." she muttered. "That's a future desire. In the now, desire plays a very small part in this, and, as I've established, need and ability have the lead roles."

Ms. Morrell leaned back in her seat, watching the girl again. "You're very honest, aren't you?

"Sometimes brutally so, yes. Is that a problem?"

"Not at all, but you may want to think about keeping some of your opinions to yourself."

"I'll take it into consideration."

"…I'm going to ask you again, Miss Swanson. Do you, or do you not, think you're ready for this?"

The girl unfolded her legs and stood up, brows raised yet again. "I think if there's a school crazy enough to accept an untreated schizophrenic, I might as well take this extremely rare opportunity." she said simply, taking a few steps toward the door. "And please," she added, glancing over her shoulder, "Call me Bridget. I'll see you on Monday, Ms. Morrell."

* * *

Bridget walked through the mostly empty high school, black messenger bag clutched to her chest. At the beginning of their session, Ms. Morrell had given her her schedule and lock early to get used to them, so there she was, looking for her locker and classrooms. Her eyes darted from left to right, lips pressed together in a thin line.

"Relax, Bridget." a female voice told her almost teasingly. "It's only you and me here."

"That, in itself, is my biggest fear." Bridget muttered, sending the blonde next to her a sharp look. "What do you want, Cassandra?"

Cassandra was one of her first hallucinations. First appearing when Bridget was only eight, Cassandra had been a constant presence in her life, though for a steady six months, all she'd been able to say was 'help me'. (Which, later, a 'highly esteemed' psychologist had explained was Bridget's subconscious crying out for help as the schizophrenia set in. That really wasn't comforting.) Then, abruptly, she'd disappeared for a year, returning on Bridget's ninth birthday. Since then, she'd made random appearances—sometimes every day, sometimes every other week—usually to give advice or sarcastic commentary.

"Just to talk, kiddo." she said now, hair rippling like golden waves as she turned. "We haven't talked in a while."

Bridget raised her eyebrows, stalking through the halls. "Talk about what?" she asked through her teeth, looking at her schedule and finding her history classroom.

"About this place. Out of everywhere in America, you chose Beacon Hills. Why? Marion told you about all of the murders, didn't she? Do you really think it's smart to try here?" Cassandra almost sounded concerned. That was laughable. "It's a nice town," she continued, "but do you really want to test your limits with serial killers running around?"

Continuing down the hall, Bridget shrugged, passing by her English classroom. "It's small, and a two day drive from where we used to live. The murders were just a coincidence, and besides, Marion knows that this is one of the few schools that'll accept me. The rest laughed in our faces." she replied, staring at the rows of lockers as she walked. "And anyway, once we got here, I was hardly going to leave."

"And why not?" Cassandra demanded, crossing her arms and following her.

"The sky here is wonderful." Bridget told her simply, fighting the urge to laugh when Cassandra just stared.

"You. Are. Impossible."

"Something I've frequently been informed of!" Bridget said with fake cheer, stopping at the locker that would be hers and pulling the silver lock out of her bag. "Are there any other observations you'd like to make?"

Cassandra was clearly exasperated by how difficult Bridget was being. Her blue eyes, which were normally crystal blue, were getting dark with frustration. "Bridget, this could be dangerous for you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, well, it seems fine to me." the brunette retorted sharply, abandoning her attempts to figure out the lock and stalking towards the exit.

"Nothing is ever as it seems." Cassandra said almost to herself, watching as Bridget shoved the door open. After a heartbeat or two, Cassandra followed her, trotting down the steps and onto the sidewalk.

Bridget looked around a bit before walking almost cautiously to the crosswalk. "Look, Cassandra, you're just informing me of things I already know. That's the whole point of you. You're just in my head."

Cassandra looked like she wanted to say something, but just shook her head, closing her mouth for a minute before speaking again. "Then take your thoughts seriously. We both know how dangerous this could be for you."

"See, the problem with my thoughts is they're not really trustworthy. So I'm ignoring your advice because I don't need it. Your advice is meaningless, really." Bridget said, crossing the street and quickening her pace.

"You'll need advice soon enough…" Cassandra said darkly. Before Bridget could ask what the hell that meant, a soft breeze seemed to blow the tall blonde away until the space next to Bridget was empty.

"That was nice and ominous." she said to herself, pausing momentarily.

Shaking her head, she tightened her grip on her bag and kept up a brisk pace up the street. She was starting to feel uneasy. (She was really starting to wish she'd taken Marion up on her offer to drive her to and from the school.) After only a few moments, the back of her neck started to prickle and she was unexpectedly cold, like icy hands were rubbing up and down her arms. Fighting off a shiver, she turned ever so slightly, looking over her shoulder.

And…Nothing. Regular paranoia then. No one was watching her. She was just being her usual paranoid self. Shaking her head to clear it, she kept walking, trying to ignore the goose bumps rising up on her arms. Nothing. It was nothing.

She only relaxed when she came to a stop in front of her new home and saw her aunt's car parked out front. With a heavy sigh, Bridget reached for the chain hidden underneath her shirt and pulled out a silver key, unlocking the front door and stepping inside.

"Bridget, sweetie, is that you?" her aunt Marion called as the door closed. Bridget's eyebrows creased. Who else had a key to their house?

"No, actually, it's a serial killer who uses the front door." she said loudly, making a face and following the sound of dishes being tossed together.

Marion laughed and Bridget paused in the entrance to the kitchen, watching her aunt stand on a chair and put glasses on the top shelf of one of the cupboards.

"I should have known better than to ask you that." Marion admitted. "How was your meeting with Ms. Morrell?"

"You mean she hasn't called you yet?" Bridget asked in return, dropping her bag from her chest and letting it thump against her hip. Picking her way through the boxes, she set the bag down on the ground and picked up two wine glasses, holding them out for Marion.

Marion shrugged easily, pushing the glasses all the way to the back of the shelf before taking the two her niece was holding out.

"I was hoping to hear it from you."

Bridget knew Marion was both nervous and excited for her to try public school again for the first time years. On one hand, she'd insisted in shopping for new clothes—something Bridget had been very reluctant about—and even a new haircut, along with more school supplies than Bridget knew what to do with. On the other hand, however, she'd given Bridget every out she could think of, reminding her that high school could be tough. But, as Ms. Morrell had said, Bridget had great determination.

"She did an adequate job, if that's what you're wondering." she said evenly, retrieving more glasses.

Marion sighed. "You know what I'm asking, Bridget." she said, looking down with serious eyes.

"She asked me—repeatedly, I might add—if I thought I was ready for this. Ready to 'rejoin the world'. I avoided the question, opting instead to tell her that readiness and desire don't matter as much as need and ability." Bridget told her grudgingly, tugging a box of coffee cups closer to her. "But I think it went well—as well as it could have, anyway."

Unwrapping a mug and tossing the bubble wrap away, she held it up and shrugged. Marion was silent for a few moments, taking cup after cup.

"That's good, sweetie." she said finally. "Ms. Morrell called a few minutes after you left. She said she thinks you'll do well this year." There was a hint of pride in her voice that made Bridget want to smile.

Instead, she shook her head. "In a school that's willing to let someone like me attend mostly untreated? I sure hope so." she muttered. Marion turned and pointed at her.

"Hey. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Principal Argent was very understanding of your case." she said, half serious, half joking.

"Case, huh? So I'm a criminal now?" Bridget asked, successfully dodging her aunt's head smack.

"Oh, be quiet and let Molly in. She's probably digging all sorts of holes in the yard." Marion groaned, obviously thinking of having to go and fill in all of the holes later.

Bridget nodded, putting the box somewhere Marion could reach it and going to the white door leading to the back yard. She opened it and leaned out a little, whistling a few times.

"Molly! Come inside!" she called. At the sound of her voice, there was a small bark and, moments later, a year-old Yorkie came barreling towards her, dirt flying off of her paws.

Bridget shook her head as the small dog charged inside, crashing through the empty boxes and bubble wrap. Marion made an irritated noise as Molly tore through the house and Bridget closed the door. She hopped over the boxes scattered across the tile floor and snatched up her bag before Molly could come back into the kitchen and tear it up.

"I'm going back to my room." she called to Marion, who nodded and leaned back.

"I'll have dinner ready soon. I put a few boxes in your room, by the way."

Nodding to herself, Bridget walked through the narrow hallway to the door at the very end. Throwing the door open, she tossed her bag on the bed and went to her desk, ignoring all of the boxes and bags that needed to be unpacked. Her hands glided over everything she had neatly laid out on the white desk before she opened all of the drawers and searched carefully. She found her iPod in the third drawer underneath a blue binder and picked it up carefully, untangling the earbuds. She turned it on and put the earbuds in, falling back onto her bed.

One hand played with the music selection and the other pulled her bag onto her lap. She settled on a playlist and opened her bag, letting the small music player fall onto the pillow next to her. Almost mechanically, Bridget pulled everything out of her messenger bag, looking at each object for a few moments before putting it back. She mostly carried books—books of all sorts. Everything from _Pride and Prejudice _to a book on neuroscience. She picked the latter, putting everything back and kicking the bag onto the floor, then pulling her legs up to her chest.

She wasn't exactly sure how long she sat there reading, but it seemed like only a few minutes had passed. (Even though the Florence + the Machine CD she was listening to was on its second loop.) Before she knew it, she was on the last chapter of her book and Marion was poking her head into the room.

"Dinner's ready, sweetie." she told her, smiling lightly. Bridget closed her book and hopped up, taking a deep breath. Garlic and cheese.

"Did you get pizza?" she asked as she followed Marion to the kitchen. The older woman looked a little sheepish.

"We really don't have enough food to make anything besides grilled cheese and cereal." she explained.

"Maybe while I'm at school you can get some food." Bridget suggested, nudging a box away with her foot and glancing around. A white box was open on the coffee table in the living room, and once she got closer, she could see it was pepperoni and pineapple. One of the randomest, yet best tasting, combinations they could agree on.

"Mm, maybe." Marion said, handing her a paper plate and a napkin. "Tomorrow I have an appointment, though. Might have to do it yourself."

Picking up the smallest slice in the box, Bridget raised her eyebrows. "Already? That was fast."

Marion was an interior designer, which was why it was so easy for them to move to California. She was her own boss, so she could really go anywhere. They'd only been in Beacon Hills a week, so it was a little surprising she already had an appointment.

"Nothing like that. I'm just applying for a few jobs until I can get an office space set up. I need to pay the bills somehow." Marion said, putting two slices of pizza on her plate and biting into the first one. Bridget nodded, chewing silently until Marion spoke again.

"I'll be taking you early, too. The principal wants to talk to you before classes start."

"That should be fun." Bridget muttered darkly, biting into her pizza and making a face.

"Bridget, he just wants to make the transition easier for you." Marion said with a sigh. "He seems like a very nice man."

Not bothering to reply, Bridget looked down at her pizza and considered it. She knew she'd be meeting with him anyway, but still...Everyone was about making it 'easier' for her. She didn't want special treatment. Her aunt looked a little put out, but decided to drop the subject for then.

"So...Do you think there's a chance you'll make any friends?" she asked, trying to keep the hopefulness out of her tone.

Bridget had been living with Marion for about six years, since her parents were both too busy to take care of a child. (They both had jobs that required them to travel a lot, which meant leaving Bridget home alone for days at a time.) Marion had been young at the time, only twenty-three. She'd just barely been an adult herself, and she had been handed a sullen ten year old with schizophrenia. After a few rocky months, they'd gotten used to each other. Marion was always trying to gently push Bridget into a life of semi-normalcy—which meant that, although she was nervous about the school thing, she was also very hopeful that Bridget would have some semblance of regularity in her life.

Bridget shrugged. "One can only hope for the best."

* * *

The next morning, Bridget woke up _far _too early, if her silent alarm clock was anything to go by. It read 5:06, almost an hour before her alarm would go off. She laid in bed for a few minutes until she finally realized she wouldn't be going back to sleep any time soon. With an irritated sigh, she sat up and left the warm comfort of her blankets to look into the too-full closet. Immediately daunted by the amount of clothes crammed into the small space, she shook her head, deciding to go to the bathroom instead.

Once she washed her face and brushed her teeth, she felt refreshed enough to pad back into her room and attempt to venture into the task of picking out her outfit. She stood there for maybe fifteen minutes, unsure of where to start. When she'd unpacked her clothes, she hadn't really thought about accessing them so much as just putting them away. She had the feeling that if she tried to pull one thing out, everything would follow it.

Eventually, Marion came in, cup of coffee in hand. "Morning, honey. Whatcha doing?" she asked.

Bridget shrugged. "Trying to decide if school is really worth death by blouse." she replied, deadpanning. Marion laughed, putting her mug down on the desk and going to the closet.

"Can I try?" she asked, making Bridget stand back and give her a 'go for it' gesture.

Sticking a hand in the tightly packed closet, Marion's entire arm seemed to disappear before she yanked it back to her body, a simple gray long-sleeved shirt in hand. "This okay?"

"Perfect, actually." Bridget replied, taking the shirt from her.

"You need anything else, sweetie?" Marion asked, moving towards the door. Bridget shook her head, letting her aunt leave the room.

A few moments later, she could hear loud barking coming from the kitchen, indicating that Molly was awake and active.

Suppressing a yawn, Bridget pulled a clean pair of jeans out of her dresser and got dressed slowly. She was just zipping up her knee-high boots when _someone _decided to make an appearance.

"_That's _what you're going with? _Really?"_ James drawled, lounging on her bed as if he owned it. She just rolled her eyes, standing up and going over to her desk. She was aware of his chocolate brown eyes following her, but she made no answer, slipping a simple necklace over her head.

"It's so _plain, _Bridget. Gray and black—so _expected. _It's your first day of school in a while; don't you wanna dress better?"

Still not responding to him, she brushed through her dark curls for a minute or two, then scooped up the notebooks she'd need and went back to the bed for her bag.

"The silent treatment? Aw, c'mon, Bridget! What did I do now?" he whined, watching her get her things in order.

James had only been with her a year, and she loathed every minute of his appearances. He was like a whiny child. So needy and he refused to _shut up. _Not to mention the fact he wasn't the nicest out of all of them. Always a bit of an was definitely her least favorite 'visitor'.

"It's not what you did, James. It's what you _won't _do." she told him after a few minutes of him pestering her. He sat up like an eager dog, looking at her with an earnest expression.

"What is it?"

"You won't shut up." she ground out, and his mouth fell open when she continued with, "Your voice is annoying."

"You...You're rude, you know that?"

"I'm just honest, James." she said, taking hold of her bag and walking out of the room.

Marion was in the living room with a brown paper bag, eating an apple. She looked up when Bridget came in, wiping her mouth. "Hey, sweetie. You wanna eat before we go?" she asked, using her free hand to tug on a black heel. Bridget shook her head.

"I ate earlier." she lied. In truth, she was just too nervous to eat. She felt like she was either going to throw up, or have a panic attack.

Marion gave her a slightly disbelieving look, but didn't push it, nodding. "Okay...You ready to go, then?"

There was no reason to stall, so Bridget nodded slowly, biting the inside of her cheek and taking the paper bag—which was apparently her lunch.

"God, Bridget, your heart is _racing._" James observed, making a mockingly concerned face. "Are you sure you wanna go through with this? No one'd blame you if you backed out now."

Ignoring him, Bridget swallowed and listen to Marion talk as they went outside to the familiar blue Beetle. Her stomach was twisting itself into some sort of pretzel and she really felt like something was about to come up.

"Just nerves." Bridget said under her breath, gripping her messenger bag tightly once she was in the passenger seat. "I'm not going to throw up." She kept muttering to herself, hoping the anxiety would pass.

"Aw, c'mon. Throw up a little. You'll feel better!" James said from the back.

He really was a nuisance.

"Sweetie, you know I can turn around at any time." Marion reminded her, genuinely concerned. Bridget shook her head, swallowing.

"No. I-I want to do this. It's just nerves. The first day is always the hardest, right?" She was never 'bright', never 'perky', but, for once, she attempted to make her tone as light and optimistic as possible.

The slightly disturbed expression on Marion's face would have been comical had Bridget not been focusing on preventing herself from dry-heaving until something came out.

"You're turning green." James stage-whispered. "Like some sort of mushroom or something."

He wasn't helping her at all.

It was ridiculous that Bridget should be so nervous. She was, as she herself had put it, familiarizing herself with a typical learning environment, not operating on a brain tumor for the first time. She had no excuse to be so nervous.

"So, you're sixteen now, and the last time you went to public school was when you were ten...Wow. Six years." James said, sounding surprised. "You've got some serious balls."

...If only she could murder him.

The rest of the short drive was spent with Marion giving Bridget concerned looks, Bridget stretching out the sleeves of her shirt and focusing her breathing, and James making generally annoying and unhelpful comments.

When they finally pulled up to the crowded high school, James leaned forward and watched Bridget squirm, brown hair falling in his eyes. A slow grin spread across his face and he shifted his gaze to the window.

"Welcome to hell."

* * *

**Unfortunately no Stiles this chapter—really, no anyone except Morrell—but I promise that the second chapter will have most, if not all, of our beloved characters making appearances, however brief they may be. (I already have most of chapter two written, and I can tell you right now that a good portion of the canons are mentioned, at the very least.) This is set in a time gap between Shape Shifted and Ice Pick, and will, for the most part, follow season two. Hopefully someone's noticed something a bit off about Bridget, something that maybe doesn't seem right...If not, read it again. ;) Like the summary says. Nothing is as it seems. (Which actually seems to be a bit of a recurring thing with Teen Wolf...)**

**Anyway, what did you guys think? I always struggle when I write the first chapter of a story, and even more so when it doesn't include any characters I'm super familiar with. I promise the next chapter will be better! **

**Leave a review and lemme know what you think!**

—**K**


	2. First Day

**And the second chapter begins! Before we get started, I'd just like to thank everyone who reviewed, favorited and followed this story. I'm glad you all like this! You have no clue how happy your reviews made me! Special thanks to kaljara, who, again, helped me out with some of the kinks!**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Teen Wolf, why exactly would I be writing fanfiction when I could be demanding more Stiles loving on screen? Hmm?**

* * *

After nearly ten minutes of Marion trying to come inside with her, Bridget slowly walked up to the building, wondering why so many people were there when school didn't start for at least another half hour. She caught the words 'morning practice' from a blond boy walking with two of his friends just ahead of her, and figured that must have been why. She remembered Marion saying at one point that Beacon Hills had some interesting sport..Whatever it was.

"Damn. Teenagers must be on steroids or something." James muttered, sauntering ahead of her and stopping in front of a curvy redhead who looked like she could be a model instead of a high school student. Raising his eyebrows, he peered at her closely, looking at the top of her head. "She's really a brunette." he said, sounding disappointed. "People need to start dying their roots a little better."

Bridget frowned, shaking her head and deciding the enigmatic nuisance that was James could be dealt with at a later time. As she continued up the steps, James eventually followed her, slowing his pace to eye all of the students with curiosity. He flat-out stared at a muscular boy hurrying towards them. Another model type.

"Wha...Is everyone here a model? Did you take up modeling or something?" James asked in a high-pitched voice, turning around to look at everyone with slight disturbance. "Because half of these kids could be in America's Next Freakin' Top Model."

"Shut up, James." Bridget said through her teeth, stepping inside.

The warm air caused goosebumps to rise on her arms underneath her shirt, and she gave an involuntary shiver, not quite realizing how cold it was outside until she was in warmth again. She looked at the office entrance for a few moments before shuffling inside, clutching her bag to her chest like she was expecting someone to try to snatch it from her. The light was a lot brighter in here, almost obscenely so. It gave the distinct feel of a hospital. Needless to say, the white light made Bridget even more nervous, now that she started thinking about hospitals. Which led her train of thought to a psychiatric ward. Which, if she kept up that line of thinking, would lead her to a full-blown panic attack.

The woman at the front desk glanced up, pen poised as if to write in the air. "Can I help you, honey?" she asked kindly, like she could sense Bridget's growing anxiety. The girl attempted to smile, twisting her face into a pained grimace instead.

"I'm, uh, Bridget Swanson. I was told that the principal wanted to meet with me before class." she said quietly, stomach in knots.

_Why can't the lights be just a _little_ more yellow? I really don't want to be thinking of a hospital whenever I come in here, which, will be often. Hospitals mean either illness or psychiatric. Either way, it's bad._ she thought to herself.

The woman smiled and nodded. "Oh, yes, Bridget. I'll let him know you're here. Go ahead and take a seat, dear."

Ducking her head, Bridget sat down on the chair closest to the door, leg bouncing up down. The woman, who, from the sign on her desk, was called Rosalie Peterson, got up and went up to a closed door. Before she opened it, Bridget was startled by an annoyingly familiar face next to her.

"Some of these kids are in their twenties, I swear. What happened to the good old-fashioned ugly kids in high school? Everyone here is too pretty." James observed, seeming actually upset by it.

Bridget just shook her head, not wanting to be seen talking to thin air. Picking at her bag, she tuned out James' whining about how everyone was 'too good looking' and how creepy it was.

"Bridget, dear? He's ready to see you."

At the sound of her name, Bridget almost immediately tensed, getting up slowly and keeping her bag close to her body as she walked towards the door. She swallowed and looked at the secretary's encouraging smile, then, a little hesitantly, continued into the office.

Behind the desk sat an older man, mostly bald, save for the white hair on the lower half of his head. He was definitely old enough to be someone's grandfather, and perhaps even old enough to have retired by now. While his expression was very open, there was something about his dark eyes that she didn't like. There was a hidden coldness in their nearly black depths that was unsettling. She forced herself to continue forward, getting the vague impression she was being analyzed by this man.

"Ah, hello, Miss Swanson." he said, smiling at her. Did he know, she wondered, that there was a sadistic sort of air that came off when he smiled? "Please, take a seat." He gestured to the two chairs across from him and she slowly sat down, trying to dismiss the feeling of terror that threatened to wash over her.

He was a _principal, _for God's sake. Not a murderer. (Though, if he had brutally killed someone, she wouldn't have really been too surprised.)

"Hello, Mr. Argent." she said quietly, clasping her hands together and squeezing them tightly.

"Oh, there's no need to be shy, Miss Swanson. We're only here to make your transition easier." he told her with what a psychopath would call warmth.

She really didn't like this man. She didn't know why, but she didn't. Maybe it was the steeliness in his gaze, or the slightly murderous expression he got when he smiled at her again. She was already on edge, and Mr. Creepy wasn't helping.

"I appreciate this, honestly." she said, looking up at him almost cautiously. His sharp eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled yet again. Fighting off a shiver, she bit the inside of her cheek. "But, um, I just want you to know before we get into this that I'm not expecting any special treatment. Quite the opposite, actually."

He nodded, as if considering her, then spoke after a heartbeat of silence. "Miss Swanson, I understand that you're a paranoid schizophrenic." he started. "Untreated for the most part, too. Your academic achievements are outstanding, however. You have excellent grades, excelling most expectations, from what I've heard, and Ms. Morrell tells me you were very calm and level-headed when you met with her."

Bridget shifted, her great dislike of this man forgotten as annoyance set in. "May I interrupt, just for a second?" she asked, trying to keep the irritation out of her tone. When he nodded, she cleared her throat. "Principal Argent, while I can't always be positive of what I'm seeing, and my paranoia _is _a bit higher than other students', I'm obviously intelligent. One doesn't get a 4.0 GPA for nothing. I have a passion for learning, and even though my 'condition' isn't ideal, I'm a good student. I can be a bit manic at times, but I promise you, if I wasn't able to manage it, I wouldn't be here." she said, trying to convey as much sincerity as she could.

"Ooh. Nice." James whispered from behind her. She almost jumped, having forgotten all about him. The principal leaned back into his seat and nodded, regarding her with a new—yet still slightly sadistic—gleam in his eyes.

"You're very determined, Miss Swanson, and I understand you're also very honest. Determination and honesty are two things I respect greatly." he said, picking up a manilla folder with her name on it.

"Have you considered any extracurriculars?" he asked as he looked through her file. Bridget bit her lip.

"I know that extracurriculars look good on college applications, so I've definitely had it on my mind, but I guess I'm just waiting to see what catches my eye." she answered.

"Maybe you could start a knitting circle for crazy people." James drawled with a dark gleam in his eyes. If only he was real. Then Bridget could have beat him to death with the plaque on the desk.

Principal Argent nodded slowly, flipping through the papers. She was a little surprised there were so many.

"I see, I see. And you know the terms of your attendance, correct?"

She gave a curt nod. "Meetings with the guidance counselor every Monday and Friday, meetings with yourself every other Wednesday, and, naturally, no disrupting class by screaming at the voices." she listed, holding up three fingers. The last one was a little sarcastic, but she couldn't help it. "My aunt and I have gone over everything." she added.

The old man closed the folder and gazed at her seriously. "One last question, Miss Swanson; Why do you want to go to school again?"

Somehow she knew her 'want vs. need' approach wouldn't work on him. Swallowing, she pondered it for a few moments, searching for the right words.

"I..I've been homeschooled since I was ten. That's six years, obviously. I've been secluded by choice, and..." Wetting her lips and shifting in her seat, she forced herself to keep holding his gaze, no matter how uncomfortable it made it. "I think I made the wrong choice. I don't want to end up as the thirty-year old schizophrenic that never leaves her house or turns into a serial killer or something. I want to be the thirty-year old behavioral neuroscience professor who can be at least semi-comfortable standing in front of hundreds of people a day, teaching something I've been interested in since I was eleven. I can't do that if I spend the rest of my life in my bedroom." Feeling as if she made her point, Bridget shrugged. "I don't want to just go through life. I want to live it. I deserve to."

Principal Argent smiled, and though there still seemed to be something wrong with that, it was a little less unsettling. She still didn't like him, but at the moment, she wasn't entirely uncomfortable.

"Miss Swanson, schizophrenic or not, I think this school will be lucky to have you." he told her. She let out a sigh of relief, wondering if they were done. "Now, I think we're just about done here. I've informed all of your teachers about your...situation, and I've also asked my granddaughter to show you around today. I hope that won't be a problem." he added at her eyebrow raise.

"That's fine, thank you." she said hastily. He smiled again and told her she was free to go.

She couldn't get out of that office fast enough. Something about that man really wasn't right. For starters, how many high school principals have such a sadistic gleam in their eyes? (Though, Bridget supposed, she didn't have much experience with principals...)

Finding herself in the main office again, Bridget looked around a bit before her gaze landed on Ms. Peterson and the large stack of books next to her.

"Here are your books and map, dear. I understand Ms. Morrell already gave you your schedule and lock, so I hope you already have those!" she said, voice oozing with kindness. "Have a nice day, honey."

Was this what high school was like? Everyone either had potential to be a murderer or a sickeningly sweet helper? That was a bit disturbing.

Blinking, Bridget carried her books in one arm and shuffled off to the hallway. Just as she was about to exit the office, a tall, fair-skinned brunette was walking in, head down. Bridget jumped back before she could hit the girl with her bag—or books.

"I'm sorry—I'm supposed to show someone around today and I wanted to catch her before she got lost." the doe-eyed girl said, looking up apologetically at Bridget, who bit her lip.

"It's fine, we were both looking elsewhere. But, I'm thinking you might be looking for me." she replied, shaking her head. "I'm Bridget."

The pretty girl's face lit up. "You are? Great! I'm Allison." she said, smiling. Allison's expression was open and friendly, whereas Bridget's was closed and panicked. (And she _still _felt like she was going to throw up. Well, at least James had disappeared so he couldn't encourage her to do it.) "Are you okay?" Allison asked, seeing Bridget's face.

"I'm fine, really. I just haven't done the whole 'public school' thing in a while." Bridget told her. Allison's concerned look turned into an easygoing smile.

"Well, I'll try to help as much as I can to make this easier, then." she said brightly.

How on earth was this seemingly sweet girl related to the creep master Bridget had just met with?

Though she seemed a bit preoccupied, Allison was nice enough. Though Bridget didn't make 'friends' easily, Allison was very friendly, and hard to not like. She told Bridget that only a few months before, she herself had been the new girl, and that her family moved around a lot. Bridget, in turn, skirted around her schizophrenia, instead telling Allison about Marion, and their previous residence in an almost nonexistent town in Idaho.

Allison was given a few strange looks in the halls, but she ignored them, if she saw any of them. (Bridget suspected she saw all of them. She seemed a little too aware to not notice them.) Bridget wondered why that was, but didn't ask, instead letting her compare their schedules and give her advice on certain teachers. Most of their classes were the same, and their lockers were even near each other, which Bridget was relieved to hear. A familiar—and friendly—face would be appreciated.

"So," Allison started, drawing out the word, "It looks like most of our classes are together, or at least near each other. Mr. Daley's room is on the other side of school, though, so you _might _have to run to get there on time. I've heard he's a pretty relaxed guy, though, so don't sweat it if you're a couple minutes late."

Bridget nodded, making a mental note of it.

"Our free periods are at different times, and so is economics. You'll do good, but the economics teacher might be a little much." Allison added. Bridget looked up as they walked into their English class.

"How so?" she asked, eyebrows creasing.

Allison smiled at her apprehensive look. "It's just that he's also the P.E. Teacher, and the coach for the lacrosse team. He's a bit out there, and he yells a lot." she said, taking a seat near the front. Almost grudgingly, Bridget sat next to her, silently wishing she could at least be in the middle of the classroom if not the very back.

"...He's the coach, the P.E. teacher, _and _the economics teacher? That's...different." Bridget muttered, shaking her head. Allison laughed, getting herself organized before the bell rang.

"I thought so too, honestly."

* * *

The day was half over, and Bridget had successfully managed to not throw up. There were a few times she sincerely _wanted _to, but didn't, instead just putting her head down and shuffling to the back of whatever classroom she was in. Somehow, she'd managed to not get lost, but there were still a few classes left.

Namely chemistry, economics, and psychology. (With their limited electives, Bridget had been surprised to find that in the somewhat small list, yet pleased as well.)

They weren't bad classes to end the day with, but first, Bridget had to get through lunch. She quietly walked towards the cafeteria, clutching a book and her lunch to her chest. The halls were crowded, and she was constantly being jostled by people as they shoved forward. Blinking a few times, she tried to stretch up on her tip toes to see if she was getting any closer, but some unfriendly student decided to push into her and knock her onto the ground.

Lovely.

Trying to not scowl, Bridget snatched the book she had dropped on the ground and tried to straighten up without getting stepped on. (People were surprisingly inconsiderate.) She found herself staring at everyone's shoes as she got up—everything from ratty sneakers to shiny heels. She saw a flash of green in the crowd as she dusted herself off and frowned, squeezing out of the crowd she had managed to get lost in and stepping into a vacant area of the hallway. As she glanced back at the crowd, she almost gaped.

There was a giant humanoid lizard walking near the front of the group.

Blinking furiously, she shook her head and stared again.

It was gone.

"Stupid imagination." she muttered, realizing that her heart was pounding in her chest.

She'd seen some odd things over the past few years, but she'd never seen a giant lizard in a crowd of teenagers.

Medication. It was a good thing to consider at this point.

Once she got into the cafeteria, she caught a flicker of yellow-ish green, but refused to look, instead looking for Allison and finding her sitting with a pretty redhead. Or maybe she was strawberry blonde. Bridget wasn't really concerned with that. No, her focus was on the man sitting next to her, a twisted smile on his face. She didn't even seem to notice him, and neither did Allison.

He was tall, Bridget guessed, wearing a long leather jacket. Even from a distance—though she was slowly getting closer—she could tell his eyes were a cold blue. He gave off the same sort of vibe as Principal Argent, though maybe a tad more homicidal.

As she approached the table shyly, Allison looked up and saw her, smiling and waving her over. "Hey, Bridget. You can sit with us if you want." she offered when Bridget reached them. "Right, Lydia?" Allison prompted when the girl across from her hesitated.

Vibrant green eyes flicked over Bridget, clearly examining her, and Lydia pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. After a few heartbeats, she looked away.

"She's cute. Eyeliner wouldn't kill her, but she's cute."

Apparently that was an approval for Bridget to sit, because Allison patted the bench next to her and smiled. Once she was all settled, Allison asked her how her day was going so far, and Bridget paused before forcing a smile and telling her everything was going great.

* * *

**And here we have it! Originally, this chapter was around 5k, but I realized that, despite the word count, I was jamming in something that would seem a bit like overkill. It'll happen in the next chapter, though, so don't worry!(I'm mostly saying this because it turned out that only a few canons made their way in and I DID promise most of them...Forgive me?)  
**

**Sorry it took so long for me to update! School started, and it's been HECTIC. And on top of that, I found myself sucked into writing a Fullmetal Alchemist fic. If any of you guys are fans, you should check it out! It's called Fire and Ice, and I'll probably be dividing my updating time between that and this until I can get into a set groove for school. (I'm also betaing a FMA fic, so that'll be taking up some time too.) There are references galore in Fire and Ice, so if you're into FMA, and enjoy a good reference, then I might have a semi-decent fic for you!**

**Also, a few people asked me in pm about face claims. Bridget's is Lucy Hale, Marion's is Shannen Doherty in her Charmed days, Cassandra's is Amanda Seyfried, and James' is Grant Gustin. (There are a ton of OCs I'm using for this fic, but for now, these are the only ones you need to know. ****)**

**Anyway! What did you guys think? I slipped a few hints in here, but whether or not everyone will catch them…Well, we'll see. ;)**

**Until next time!**


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